


Open Doors

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anxiety, Fire, Fluff, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Mention of Kidnapping, Other, Spoilers for The Empty Hearse, Wounds, mention of drugs, they need each other so much i could cry for three years straight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-04
Updated: 2014-01-04
Packaged: 2018-01-07 08:54:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1117953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He solves up the puzzle. He was dragged out of the bonfire when it was already lit, that means Sherlock made his way through it only with his leather gloves exposing his hands to fire.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Open Doors

**Author's Note:**

> If you haven't watched The Empty Hearse stay away from this. This is just a stupid ficlet written by a burst of feels don't mind me.

He hardly remembers the cab ride. Everything was a blur of colours, flashes of lights and echoes of voices. He barely remembers being sat between Sherlock and Mary, gingerly leaning his dead weight on Sherlock’s shoulder and Mary holding his hand.  

What comes after that is big black nothing.

Where is he now? No idea. His head is spinning and every single bone and muscle of his body feels sore. A pounding headache is ripping through his brain and it stings on his left temple and neck. He hears his heart beating fast and his blood making its way through his body, pumping around.

Kidnap. Bonfire. Sherlock. Mary. Cab ride. Big black nothing. Now

Where is he?

He opens his eyes and tries to focus his surroundings. He is not in a hospital. It smells like tea and Chinese takeaway, definitely not a hospital. The drug they injected him earlier that afternoon is starting to wear off but he is still disoriented and confused. Well, if it is still the same day.

‘John?’ He hears as if someone is whispering from the other side of the blur. Something blocks his vision and he frowns. ‘John.’ He hears more clearly this time, it’s a male voice.

‘What?’ His own voice sounds wrong, hoarse. He closes his eyes again and wishes his heart was a bit less noisy.

‘John, come on.’ A hand as big as his entire head pats him gently on the cheek. He moans and opens his eyes again.

‘Sherlock?’ He frowns.

‘There you are.’

He blinks several times. ‘Where am I?’ He asks and tries to sit up, grunting. Sherlock pushes him carefully with the palm of his hand to help him incorporate in the sofa.

‘Baker Street.’

‘Mary?’

‘Want some water?’

He suddenly realizes how thirsty he is. His mouth tastes like ashes and he can smell smoke everywhere. He nods, gets a glass of cool water handed and drinks it eagerly. Sherlock nods and takes the glass from his hands.

‘Mary?’ He asks again while Sherlock sits down in his armchair.

‘She is in your old bedroom resting. She said she had work early tomorrow and I invited her to stay to avoid the cab ride home.’

John cocks his head and raises an eyebrow. He can see a little bit more clearly now and sees Sherlock looking away. ‘Well, that’s new.’ There are seconds of silence.

‘She handled your scratches and treated them.’

John reaches for his left temple and pats the covered wounds. ‘How long have I-?’

‘About three hours. You’ve been in and out the whole time.’

John sighs and looks at his knees. ‘Why me, Sherlock? Why now?’

‘I don’t know, John. But I will look into it.’

‘I know you will.’ He smiles and looks down. He can feel Sherlock smiling too. ‘I- I can’t believe you faked your own death, Sherlock.’ He rubs his forehead and laughs nervously. ‘It’s just ridiculous.’

‘It had to be done. Don’t think I had a great time either.’

He, all of a sudden, realizes how must have been his life as a fugitive for two years and what kind of horrors he must have been put through. John sighs and looks at Sherlock again and then at the glass. It has a tiny stain of blood and he looks at his hands for cuts. None.

‘Sherlock, let me see your hands.’ He solves up the puzzle. He was dragged out of the bonfire when it was already lit, that means Sherlock made his way through it only with his leather gloves exposing his hands to fire.

‘I am okay, John.’

‘The hell you are. Come here.’ Sherlock scoffs and stands up from his arm chair. He shows his palms to John and looks away.

It’s not severe damage. Most of it will be okay within a couple of days but there are two suppurating wounds about the size of a coin, one in each hand. From there comes the blood.

‘Why didn’t you tell Mary to clean this and patch it up?’

‘I’m okay. It’s nothing.’ He tries to take his hands away from John’s but the doctor is faster.

‘Sherlock, these need treatment or you’ll get ampoules or even worse, an infection. Fetch the kit and sit down.’ Sherlock rolls his eyes but obeys. The kit is in the same living room since Mary used it to heal John; he gets it, places it on the coffee table and sits next to John.

‘Will I live?’ John smiles at that while he carefully cleans the open wounds. The detective hisses but says nothing.

‘Good old days. I never thought I’d do this again.’ He proceeds to apply some burn ointment all over his palms.

‘I’ve never burnt my hands before, John.’

‘You know what I mean, don’t be thick.’

John carefully bandages Sherlock’s hands neatly and when he is done he looks at the detective directly in the eyes. ‘Change bandages every day, avoid putting any pressure in your hands and apply this every 12 hours for three or four days.’ He hands him the ointment and closes the kit.

‘I like her.’

‘What?’

‘Mary, I like her.’

‘Yeah, she’s good with me.’ John stops for a moment and smiles to himself.

‘She let you grow that moustache.’

‘Well, she’s good with me _sometimes_.’ Sherlock giggles and looks away, there’s hurt in his eyes somehow. There are a few seconds of tense silence and ‘She’s not a replacement, Sherlock. She helped me through all this nightmare, she was good and caring and I do love her. But that doesn’t mean I used her to forget you, she was there to erase the pain not the memories.’

‘I understand.’ Sherlock is looking at his bandaged hands and John can tell how anxious he is.

‘I hope you do understand too that it will take time to take you on my life again, but that doesn’t mean I closed my door for you.’

Sherlock nods and stares away.

‘I guess it’ll be fine in some time.’

‘I really hope so, John.’ 


End file.
